Experiment House
by fledge
Summary: A loosely connected collection of short ficlets about Jill and Eustace's school. First Chapter formerly up as Bullied
1. Chapter 1

Lonely as a cloud

"…and-then-my-heart-with-plea-sure-fills-and-dan-ces-with-the-daf-fo-dils."

"All right, all right, Adela," there was a note of resignation in the teacher's voice. "I see you have learned the lines… You may sit down."

Grinning broadly to her friends, and grimacing when the teacher had turned her back, the big straw-haired girl plumped back into her seat.

"Well – we should hear someone else, I suppose," the teacher said after a pause, turning back to the class. "Anybody?"

Out of the sea of bored impassive faces a hand slowly rose. The teacher's eyes lit up; clearly she had not expected it.

"Yes, Gillian?"

A thin pale-faced girl with mousy hair in a thick plait rose to her feet. Everything about her screamed ordinary and plain, but a close observer might have noticed a spark in the green eyes as she began,

_I wander'd lonely as a cloud_

_That floats on high o'er vales and hills,…_

The teacher's expression changed. A smile stole to her lips and she closed her eyes to listen. But the girl had become so lost in the poem that she did not notice. Nor did she notice that her neighbour was squeezing a piece of blotting paper soaked in black ink between the pages of her English book.

Apparently oblivious of everything around her, she finished,

_…. The bliss of solitude;_

_And then my heart with pleasure fills_

_And dances with the daffodils._

After a short silence the teacher opened her eyes and smiled at the girl.

"Well, Gillian, that was – what can I say? – wonderful! I cannot imagine this could be done any better… Thank you so much!"

As if waking from a trance, Jill sat down slowly. Her neighbour turned to the boy in the desk behind her and snickered.

"Yes, class," the teacher continued, and there seemed to e new energy in her voice, "_that's_ how a poem should be recited. Now, after Gillian's marvellous performance, I do not think it would be a good idea to – no, we will turn to prose instead. So will you open your books on page 78…"

With a series of groans the pupils proceeded to do so.

When she opened her own book, Jill found the pages smeared with black ink. A glance at the triumphant grin of the pig-faced girl next to her told her everything. But she knew better than to tell he teacher. The so called code of honour at Experiment House (the one among the pupils, that is) considered 'blabbing to teachers' as the most heinous crime possible, and imposed severe and brutal punishments on it. Moreover, Jill knew it would be impossible for her to prove anything. She shrugged and turned the page so that the teacher would not notice. She had already read the piece in question, an extract from _Frankenstein,_ anyway – the whole book, actually, and would be able to answer any questions the teacher might ask her.

"Here comes the Pole!" The lanky boy with the sleek blond hair guffawed. He could have laid claim to the term of pole himself easily, tall and thin as he was, but of course nobody would have dared to say a thing like that to Cholmondely Major's face. The group of girls and boys grinned.

"_Thank you,_ _Gillian,_" Adela Pennyfather said in a whining voice, "What a _wonderful performance_. So much _feeling_…"

'That's because it's such a beautiful poem,' Jill thought, but she was sensible enough not to say anything of the kind. She just wanted to pass the group silently, but Edith Winterblott, the pig-faced girl that was sitting next to her in English class, barred her way.

"We don't like teachers' pets here, you know," she said threateningly. "And we don't like to be made look stupid by a twerp like you…"

"You don't belong here, anyway," another girl with elaborately dressed shiny black curls added, stepping up to Jill. "Just look at you…"

Jill, who was only too painfully conscious of her mended cardigan and coarse cotton stockings, to say nothing of the skirt whose seams had clearly been let out more than once, swallowed hard to fight back her tears.

Adela Pennyfather, though perfectly dull in other matters, was a keen observer.

"My, oh my," she crooned gleefully. "Are we bringing on the waterworks? Little Jillie-baby running to mummie? But mummie isn't he-ere!"

As the others broke into raucous laughter, Jill, now really bursting into tears, ran off.


	2. ElevenPlus

Another little piece about Jill. I have changed the official Narnia timeline a bit, because I just do not see the Silver Chair going on in the middle of the War, as well as for other reasons that it would take too long to talk about here. You are welcome to discuss it with me privately, though. And in case you wonder, of course this comes before chapter one!

And even if you don't believe it, that maths question is completely authentic.

**Eleven-Plus**

It was hot in the gym- stifling hot. The sun beat down on the corrugated iron roof that had been put up after the school had been bombed a couple of years ago, and, for some reason or other, had never been replaced. Rows of desks were set up in the gym, and at each of the desks sat a girl in threadbare uniform, the plaited skirts shiny with wear, and the formerly white blouses greyish from innumerable washings.

It was completely silent, save for the scratching of pens on rough paper, the occasional sigh, the suppressed sob. A grey-faced, exhausted-looking teacher paced between the desks, her eyes glinting malevolently behind her glasses.

The arithmetic paper had eight questions, and Jill Pole had already done seven of them. A glance at the clock on the wall told her there were still some ten minutes left for number eight. Maths had never been a problem to her, and she had found the first seven questions quite easy, so she confidently read the last one:

A soldier's step measures 2'6 ½". How many miles does he travel in 2hrs40mins, if he takes 128 steps a minute?

Quite automatically, Jill did the sum and wrote the answer. Then she hesitated.

"But -," she said to herself, "That's hardly possible! Are they trying to trick us?"

She thought again, and then she wrote next to the figure that she had already written down:

"Nobody could possibly walk like that, and most certainly not for two hours and forty minutes."

Smiling to herself, she raised her hand.

"I'm finished, ma'am."

A reluctant smile appeared in the teacher's face for a second.

"Ah, Pole; I might have known."

And while around Jill several girls looked up enviously, the teacher collected Jill's paper.

"How did you find the exam?" Gladys Pole asked, when Jill entered the basement kitchen.

"It was easy," Jill said proudly. "You know that arithmetic is one of my strong points, Mum. But there was that one question…"

Mrs Pole looked up from her cooking.

"Yes?" she asked anxiously.

"It's nothing, mum, I did answer it and I answered it correctly, I'm sure. It's just that it was so stupid. About a soldier-,"

Her mother sighed.

"As if we didn't have enough of war and soldiers," she said and her voice sounded grey.

"Yes, mum. But the funny thing was that that soldier would have to keep marching at more than two steps a second for almost three hours! Nobody can do that! Do you think they wanted to test our understanding?"

"I doubt it, darling," Mrs Pole smiled tiredly. "Not if I know how schools work. It's far more likely whoever designed that test just didn't bother. But you did get it right, didn't you?"

"Yes, mum, don't worry. And I wrote that it was impossible, too…"

"You did? Jill, isn't that asking for trouble? You know how important the eleven-plus is… Did you really jeopardise your chances just to be clever?"

"But mum, don't you think someone will notice that I am right and appreciate it?"

"Let's just hope so, my girl, let's just hope they do…"

"The cheek!" the examiner exclaimed, upon reading the answer Jill had written. "Who does the little brat think she is?"

"But it's clever of her, John, you'll have to admit that," his colleague said, glancing over at the paper. "Really, sometimes I wonder who dreams up these questions. And the sum is correct, isn't it?"

"That it is, Clive, as is all the rest of the paper," the other man grudgingly admitted. "A hundred per cent, best paper of them all." He glanced at a list on his desk. "Let me see – Pole… Pole … ah, here she is – yes, top among the English papers, too…"

"So we'll have to put her on the list of scholarship recommendations, won't we?"

"Much as I dislike that cheek, we have no choice, I suppose. There's only a handful that have got a hundred per cent."

"I don't see any problem with that 'cheek' as you call it. It shows a healthy and critical attitude and an open mind, qualities sadly missing in today's youngsters. And not only youngsters," he added silently to himself.

"Well, Clive, have it your own way. It's still cheek to me. But – why don't we recommend her to that new crazy school new over in the Lake District? Wossname? Some kind of House or other?"

"Experiment House. They are supposed to have the most modern and liberal attitude towards learning and education. If anybody appreciates this girl's ideas, it will be them."

"Mum! The results!" Jill came running into the tiny living room waving an envelope excitedly.

With trembling fingers Mrs Pole tore the letter open.

"Oh Jill!" she sighed looking up. "You've made it! Full marks everywhere! Oh, I'm so proud of you!"

Jill threw herself into her mother's arms and they remained standing there for a short time, enjoying the happy moment.

"What's that?" Mrs Pole said when she looked at the letter again. "There's a second page… Jill, just listen to this!

We are happy to inform you that your daughter Gillian has been awarded a full scholarship at Experiment House, Lake District. The scholarship will cover full board and lodging, as well as tutoring fees, books and other essentials. We would like to ask you to inform the London School Board by return of post whether you accept the scholarship. In case of your acceptance, the Head of the school will contact you concerning further arrangements.

A scholarship, Jill! Isn't that fantastic?"

"Yes, mum."

"But Jill, it's more than we could ever afford! It's the chance of a lifetime! What's the matter, child? Aren't you happy?"

"Lake District, mum! Hundreds of miles away from you!"

"I know, dear, I know. And I'll miss you terribly… But it will be so good for your education, you understand that, don't you? A good school opens up all sorts of opportunities…"

A strange feeling swept through Jill's mind.

How do you know it's a GOOD school?

But she did not say it aloud.

A/N: Anybody going to work out that maths problem? 


	3. Chapter 3

Remember how you had to say the right things to the Head when you were in trouble and would get rather a favourite with her than being expelled? Thanks to **InkandPaper** for the idea. This is how, instead of being an ordinary bully, you become

AN INTERESTING PSYCHOLOGICAL CASE

"What's your name, boy?"

"Major, madam."

" Major – and?"

"Cholmondeley, madam, Cholmondeley Major."

The Headmistress rummaged among the papers on her desk.

"Major… Major… ah, yes…"

She looked up at the tall lanky boy that was standing next to the door.

"Cholmondeley, you know why you are here?"

The boy cleared his throat.

"I – I am not sure, madam…"

His voice seemed unnaturally high.

"Well, why don't you sit down and relax? And then we can talk about it all. There is really no need to be afraid. We at Experiment House always do our best to be modern and understanding…"

She looked down at the paper in front of her again; therefore, she could not see the shifty smirk that passed across the boy's face as he sat down in the chair in front of the desk.

"I have a report here from Mr. Neill," the Head continued. "About an incident in the sports lesson last week…"

She paused, but the boy did not say anything. So she went on:

"Apparently you twisted another boy's – yes, James Spivvins, - another boy's arm forcing him to kiss your shoes. I can hardly believe that, but Mr. Neill says he saw it with his own eyes. Now, why don't you just sit back and tell me in your own words what happened?"

The boy hid his face in his hands.

"Yes, it's true," he groaned, and his shoulders were shaking. "Yes, it's exactly what I did. I – I – "

His voice faltered.

The Head looked shocked.

"But- but why? Why on earth would you do such a terrible thing?"

"I – I don't know." A careful observer might have noticed the slightly exaggerated sob in the boy's voice, but the Head was nothing of the kind. "It's – it's perhaps because I envy him…"

"Envy?" The Head sounded surprised. "I happen to know his father died in the war and…"

"Yes!" the boy blurted out. "That's why! I hate my father, he drinks, and he keeps beating me whenever I'm home! Yes! That's why I envy Spivvins – because his father is dead!" Again he hid is face in his hands, and again a careful observer might have noticed that the shaking shoulders were not exactly a sign of desperation.

Again, the Head did not notice anything. There were tears in her eyes as she rose fromher chair, went round her desk and put a hand on the boys' shoulder.

"Calm down," she said soothingly. "Everything will be alright…"

"Am I going to be expelled? Oh, please, anything, but don't send me back to my father!"

"Of course nobody is going to expel you. We have our students' best interest at heart…"

"And, please, don't tell him what happened – he'd kill me if he knew…"

"No, there will not be any need to do that. Just don't do it again."

"Never! Oh, I'm so ashamed of myself!"

The Head opened the door and called,

"Heather, will you kindly send James Spivvins in?"

A moment later, a short, chubby boy with straw coloured hair entered, looking positively frightened when he saw Cholmondely Major.

"Your classmate here has to say something to you, James," the Head said cheerfully.

Slowly, the tall boy unfolded himself from the chair, wiped at

his – perfectly dry – eyes and took a step towards James, whose eyes widened, while he took a hasty step back.

"Now I want you two to shake hands …" the Head told the two boys.

"I am sorry, Jim," Cholmondely said, advancing at the other boy with his hand stretched out and an exaggerated smile plastered on his face. "Please forgive me."

The other hesitatingly shook hands, while the Head looked on, smiling happily.

"I dare say the two of you will become great friends," she said.

"I'm sure of it, madam," Cholmondely agreed.

When he left the office, his gang of admirers was gathered in the corridor.

"What did she give you, Chums?" Adela Pennyfather asked eagerly. "Detention?"

The tall boy gave a derisive laugh.

"Nothing!"

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. _Rien._ Just made me shake hands with him and promise I'd never do it again."

"But how-?"

" Fed her the story about my horrible father beating me; and she just gobbled it up like that!"

"And – does he?" Adela, not the quickest on the uptake, demanded.

"Does who what?"

"Your father? Beat you, I mean?"

"Ha, he's not even home often enough to know I exist! Stuffs me with money, but otherwise ignores me – the best father you could wish for!"

"And what now?" Bill Garrett inquired with a nasty smirk.

"What do you think? I'll get the little stinker in the playground after lessons – just have to be a bit more careful in future…"

A/N: For those wondering - Cholmondeley is actually pronounced "Chumlie".


	4. Chapter 4

Bookworm

"_Pole!" The librarian's voice was a mix of outrage and desperation. "What on earth have you done to this book?"_

_With a look of disgust she stared at the mud-splattered dirty volume in the hand of the girl who was standing in front of her desk, pale and wide-eyed._

_Jill remembered…_

Finally, she had found it on the library shelves, and it seemed like a small miracle to her that _Peter Pan_ even existed in the library of Experiment House at all – after all, Experiment House prided itself on its 'modern critical attitude' as they liked to call it, and this meant they did not encourage books about fairies or boys that didn't want to grow up. She could hardly believe her luck, and she took the book out happily, even if the librarian gave her a disapproving look when she presented it for check-out.

After an unpleasant school day – not particularly unpleasant, quite ordinary in fact, with the usual teasing because of her clothing, her way of talking, or her appearance in general that she had become used to during the last couple of weeks, but certainly far from pleasant, either, -she put on the plain (her classmates used to call it shabby) jumper that her mother had knitted for her last Christmas (hand-made clothing was particularly looked down upon by the students of Experiment House), took her book and went down to the playground, where she sat down on a log apart from the others and began to read.

Soon she was so immersed in the tale of Wendy – even if she found her a bit too docile and too absorbed in her part of little mother, - that the noise of the other children around her receded from her mind and she could picture herself in the jungles of Neverland, on board of the pirate ship and in the cave of the lost boys. And she shivered with apprehension when Tinker Bell drank Peter's poisoned medicine. She read,

Do you believe? 

Something wet and squashy hit her in the head, dirt splattered the pages of the book as it slid from her lap onto the wet grass. She jumped up, and when she had managed to wipe the mud from her eyes she saw the group of children standing around her in a circle, grinning nastily.

"Oi, bookworm!" a boy from her own year called Scrubb yelled as he slung another handful of mud at her narrowly missing her face, but fully hitting the book at her feet. The others jeered.

"Go home, bookworm!" they shouted and soon the air was full of fistfuls of mud as Jill grabbed her book and frantically sprinted towards the main building and her dormitory.

The laughter of the others kept ringing in her ears.

On her bed, she spread out the soiled book, trying to wipe it clean with her handkerchief, but just smearing the dirt all over it even more in the attempt. Tears sprang from her eyes as she surveyed the damage.

"Oh my, what shall I do?"

"There's one thing you'd better NOT do," Adela Pennyfather, who had just entered, said in a low threatening voice. "You know what we think of blabbing to teachers…"

"_I'm really sorry, ma'am," Jill said to the librarian, and her voice was shaking. "I should have been more careful, I know… it's all my fault…"_

"_All right," the librarian said, moved by Jill's distress. "It's not that it's a very good book, anyway, so I guess it isn't such a great loss after all… But you must promise to take better care in future. Just imagine if it had been Modern Ways of Understanding Algebra …"_

"_Yes, ma'am," Jill muttered as she turned away._


End file.
